


Sud Studz

by clawstoagunfight (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Crack, Derek is a security guard, Happy Ending, House Cleaning, Kissing, M/M, Maid Service, Miscommunication, Stiles doesn't take any crap, Stiles is a housekeeper, near nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-19 07:39:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2380256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/clawstoagunfight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At this point, it’s a part of Stiles’ job that he’s come to expect. He knows the risks that come with being nearly nude as his profession, and unfortunately, the occasional person getting too close to him to try to get a better look at his backside while he’s bent over, scrubbing their dirty kitchen floors, is just another one of those things that come with his job description. But, in all of his years of cleaning houses, he’s never had a client get handsy with him; at least not like this; not until today.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to all my pals for letting me bounce ideas off of them. Special thanks, as always, to [thewolfthatwrites](http://thewolfthatwrites.tumblr.com/) for the beta!

At this point, it’s a part of Stiles’ job that he’s come to expect. He knows the risks that come with being nearly nude as his profession, and unfortunately, the occasional person getting too close to him to try to get a better look at his backside while he’s bent over, scrubbing their dirty kitchen floors, is just another one of those things that come with his job description. But, in all of his years of cleaning houses, he’s never had a client get handsy with him; at least not like this; not until today.

It started innocent enough—or at least as innocent as a man paying another man to clean their house in next to nothing so they can watch could be. Stiles showed up with his cleaning supplies and took off his clothes, the apron barely bigger than a loincloth already secured to the front of his stark white thong, and got to work.

At the exorbitant rate that Stiles and the other housekeepers were paid, he liked to get in and out as quickly as he could so the clients couldn’t accuse him of just wasting their time to get more money—it had happened once, after he and Scott first started the business, and he’d learned his lesson on how to do a quick, but thorough cleaning.

Stiles likes housekeeping; he’s good at it. There’s something relaxing about the repetition and redundancy of the daily tasks. There’s something about the smell of wood polish and wax and the chemical scent of lemon that clings in his nostrils the rest of the day that soothes him. Normally, it’s enough to distract him from the fact that he’s wearing just a small piece of fabric and that there’s someone who he doesn’t know watching him in sick fascination, getting their rocks off at his subservient behavior.

But today, as he’s wrapping up, he realizes belatedly that his clothes are missing from where he left them by the bucket full of solutions and cleaners. He frowns, looking around the large, extravagant home, only to see his khaki slacks in the hands of the client—a mister Adrian Harris.

Mr. Harris watches him for a moment, his eyes shamelessly raking over Stiles’ body. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on Stiles’ skin from his work, and the other man seems to appreciate it.

Stiles clears his throat. “Can I have my pants, please?”

Mr. Harris raises his eyebrow. “I’m not inclined to give them back. You look so much better when you’re not covered up. You have such pretty skin.”

Stiles flushes. Other than the initial interview, he normally doesn’t have much to do with the people he works for—that’s more of Kira’s job description—and he’s never had a client be so brash as to refuse to let him get dressed. “Thanks, but I really do need my clothes back. I have to go.”

Mr. Harris takes a few steps closer and Stiles realizes that his back is to a wall. “Leaving so soon?” The man asks, his voice dropping in a way that makes Stiles uncomfortable.

“Yep,” he says, popping the ‘p’. “I’ve got another appointment in an hour that I need to get ready for.”

The look on the man’s face darkens and Stiles sees the way his hand clenches around the material of his khakis, fingers almost turning white. “I just bet you do. Are you going to let this one fuck you? Is that it? Is that why you’re in such a rush to leave me—because you’re going to let some old, rich guy fuck you onto his kitchen table like the slut you are? Hmm?”

Stiles blinks hard, feeling as if he’s been slapped. “Excuse me?” His face warms with anger and he reaches out, grasping a hold of his pants and stepping closer to the other man. Mr. Harris is mousey, about the same height as Stiles, with stringy dark hair and glasses; he’s one of the least intimidating clients Stiles has ever had, so it’s easy for the words to come tumbling out of his mouth. “Where the fuck do you get off making such asinine comments about me? You know nothing about me. I’m just eye candy that you pay to watch clean so you can get your rocks off after I’m gone, remembering the memory of my ass and wishing you could be the one to fuck it. Well, guess what, asshole?—you’re not ever going to get a chance to. In fact, no one I work for will ever get a chance to, because I’m not a fucking prostitute, I’m a housekeeper. And after this, you’ve earned yourself a spot on our company’s blacklist.” With that, Stiles forcefully grabs his slacks back from the other man.

It’s as he’s starting to put it on that it happens. He’s got one arm through one sleeve when he feels Mr. Harris’ clammy fingers wrap tightly around the wrist of his other arm. The man gets up in Stiles’ face, seething. “You can’t do this! I pay good money to your company every week. I’ve been one of the longest running customers! You’re going to regret this!” The grip tightens to the point that it’s painful and Stiles is sure that it’s going to leave a bruise.

Stiles doesn’t think about it, just reaches out with his other hand to grab the guy’s wrist, using the maneuver that his father taught him before he went away to college. He twists his hand until the man lets go, then keeps the momentum going, turning him around before Stiles pushes him to the floor. The wrist that Harris had grabbed was already starting to throb. “Don’t _ever_ touch me again, or I will not hesitate to file assault charges. Are we clear?” Stiles’ voice had dropped low, dangerous, and Mr. Harris must see the seriousness in his expression when he looks back at him, because he pales and nods.

Stiles finishes putting on the clothes with an outward calm that he doesn’t feel. He gives the man on the floor one last look before he picks up his cleaning supplies and leaves.

~

He doesn’t really think about it until later, until he’s sitting on the couch in his apartment, freshly showered, in a t-shirt and sweatpants, eating Pad Thai with Scott, his best friend and partner in crime, and Boyd, his roommate. He’d called Kira as soon as he’d left Harris’ house, then had called Liam and asked him to fill in while he went back to the office to have Lydia look at his wrist. The incident was documented as per protocol, and then he was released from the rest of his day’s work and sent home.

Scott had cut out early as well, opting to hang out with Stiles to help get his mind off of it. This wasn’t the first time a client had gotten handsy with one of the workers, but it was the first time that the touch wasn’t in a sexual way. Normally, it was just stuff like a smack on the ass, or a brush of their hair, but what Adrian Harris had done was born of anger, and that was scary. If Stiles hadn’t been who he was, brought up by his police officer father to know how to defend himself, things could’ve turned out a lot worse. He tries not to think about what would’ve happened if it were Isaac, or Mason, or anyone else who might not have been able to fight back.

He lets out a heavy sigh, placing his take-away container on the coffee table. “I think we should pay for everyone to take self-defense classes.”

Scott, who’s raising chopsticks to his lips, pauses and turns to look at him. He puts the bite in his mouth and chews it over, obviously thinking about what Stiles has said. On paper, Scott and Stiles are partners for Sud Studz, but in reality, Scott is much more of a boss than Stiles is. Scott is a leader, someone people look up to and trust to take care of them. In a profession like this, that kind of trust goes far with people—both the workers and the clients—and Stiles is normally happy enough to just be on the sidelines. He rarely tells Scott how to run the business, but when he has something to bring to the table, Scott listens, so Stiles knows he’s listening now.

“It’s a good idea, but I just think it will take too much time.” He’s looking at Stiles with his earnest, dark eyes, full of apology. “It’s a good long-term solution, but I’m kind of freaked out for everyone right now. I want them to be safe, but we need something short-term.”

Boyd turns to Scott from his spot in the recliner and gives him a hesitant look. “You know my girlfriend, Erica? Well, she works for a freelance security company. They mainly just get booked for concerts or other things, where the normal security staff isn’t quite enough, but they might be able to help you guys out for a little while. She was just complaining about how slow things have been lately. I could have her give you the number for her boss, if you want.”

Stiles looks between his roommate and his best friend. “It might be something to look into, dude.”

Scott thinks about it for a moment before he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe that will work. We can use them for right now until everyone has a chance to get some self-defense training.”

It’s not much, but the plan makes Stiles feel a little bit better.

~

It’s two days later when Scott calls Stiles and asks him to go to the meeting that he’s set up with the owner of Silver Security Co., a private security firm known for their professionalism and integrity. They meet in a posh office across town from where their own slightly meager building is located.

Chris Argent is an older man, the gray at his temples making him look distinguished rather than aged. He looks at them with shrewd eyes when they walk in, probably mistaking them for some teenage delinquents in need of being defended from the school bully. Surprise flickers briefly over his face as Scott explains why they need to hire out security.

Mr. Argent looks over to Stiles after Scott’s long explanation is over. “And you say this is the first time something of this magnitude occurred while you were working?”

Stiles swallows hard. There’s something intimidating about the older man. “Yes. I think I handled it pretty well, all things considered, but what if it had been someone else? I just don’t think we can take that kind of chance from now on.”

Mr. Argent looks at him for a long moment, his gaze assessing. “No, I suppose you can’t.” His eyes flicker back over to Scott. “You said that you only have four or five boys—”

“Men,” Scott interrupts, his voice hard. “They aren’t boys. They are men.”

Mr. Argent seems taken aback for a moment, but then nods in assent. “Four or five men on rotation daily? So, one security guard to cover one worker?” Scott nods and Mr. Argent lets out a breath. “Good. Well, as it turns out, I do have some of our staff available at the moment. When would you need them to start?”

Scott smiles at the older man—a warm, genuine smile. “Really? That’s so great! As soon as possible would be the best. If it’s about my workers’ safety, I’d rather not wait.”

Mr. Argent’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, extending his hand out to the younger man. “Spoken like my kind of person. Now, let’s negotiate, shall we?”

After nearly an hour and a half of ironing out payment, logistics, figuring out if the security guards would ride with the housekeepers or follow them from location to location in their own vehicles, which method of defense the security was to have on hand (to which Scott firmly replied “no guns or tasers. Actually, nothing that can be used to harm my men”), assuring Argent that even though the cleaning company consisted of all men, none of them would have a problem with female security guards having their backs, things were finally settled between them.

Mr. Argent warms to them considerably as they talk, and Stiles finds himself actually liking the man when it’s time to leave. They all stand and Mr. Argent walks them to the door of his office. “I think it’s going to be a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. McCall,” Argent says, reaching out to shake Scott’s hand, before he shakes Stiles’ as well, “Mr. Stilinski.”

Stiles finds himself giving the older man a small grin. “Oh, I think this will be a beautiful partnership.”

Scott laughs. “Oh no, now you’ve done it. There’s no getting rid of him after this.”

Stiles forces a neutral expression to his face and nods solemnly. “Resistance is futile.”

Mr. Argent shakes his head and opens the door for them. “I’ll be seeing you two around. Until then, I’ll send over my two team leaders tomorrow to coordinate with you on what we talked about.”

“Sounds good,” Scott said, before he and Stiles walked out of the building.

~

Sud Studz was born of one too many sleepless nights and Scott and Stiles’ mutual desperation for any form of income whilst in college. It started as a sort of joke while they were cleaning the dorm that they shared, about how they should just get paid to clean. Stiles laughed it off, but Scott started asking people in their hall about it.

They started small, just a spare few dollars for dusting, sweeping, doing laundry—really, for whatever needed to be done. By the end of that school year, however, the RA of their hall had been recommending them to any kids who didn’t pass inspection so that he would be up for a raise come evaluation time. Eventually, they became a two-person team, known for their efficiency and friendliness.

It was an unassuming man who started it all. It was the middle of the following summer, Stiles and Scott washing the windows of the man’s home, sweat trailing down their bodies from both of them being under the blistering sun. Scott had taken his shirt off, not able to stand the heat any longer, and the man had stopped them, told them he would give them an extra fifty bucks if Stiles took his shirt off as well while they finished cleaning.

It was easy money, so Stiles agreed. Before either of them knew what was happening, the man had started referring their cleaning service to his friends, telling them about how the men were willing to lose some clothes for a little extra cash. Stiles clearly remembers Scott having to shut a client down, however, for propositioning him for sex, and after that, their reputation of professionalism, even if they were half naked, was born.

The name Sud Studz was picked out by Kira and Lydia while they were all drunk and hanging out at Lydia’s apartment downtown. Lydia mentioned that they should expand and think about creating an actual business, like the studs they were. Kira had started laughing until her eyes were wet, before she’d slurred out “you’re the studliest suds. Studs. Suds. Sud studs. You’re sud studs.”

The guys had laughed it off, but the title stuck with them, and after a few more months of their small cleaning reputation producing almost more clients than the two of them could handle and making college classes nearly impossible, they decided to enlist the help of their friends to create a real business. They got a building, hired some people, and Scott and Stiles switched to part-time students while they worked and finished their degrees.

By now, Sud Studz had been an established company for half a decade, and was renowned as the Chippendale’s of the housekeeping industry. They were known by their reputation, by word of mouth, spread from client to friend, creating new clients—mostly middle-aged men with the occasional housewife. Sometimes, there were younger clients, or couples, or older clients, or clients who requested the workers wear various costumes instead of the standard uniform, but for the most part, their customers fit into a type.

Which is why, when Stiles walks into Sud Studz bright and early the next morning, he’s more than a little surprised to see Scott, Kira, and Lydia sitting down at the small conference table in the office across from a relatively young man and woman, probably no more than a couple years older than any of them. He thought that the security people from Chris Argent’s company would be here, but he thinks maybe they called Kira and pushed the appointment back. Instead, it looks like Scott and the rest are interviewing another potential client.

Scott looks up when Stiles’ walks over from where he’s writing down something in a file. He smiles at him and motions for Stiles to sit down in the vacant chair next to Kira.

It’s only when he’s sitting that he gets a good look at the couple across from him. The woman has shoulder-length dark hair, dark eyes, and fair skin. She’s athletic, dressed in a sweater dress, leggings, tall combat boots, and an olive green jacket. She has a kind smile—not at all the normal type of person who comes to ask about an all-male nearly-nude cleaning service. The guy is much the same as the girl; dark hair, light eyes, athletic build, sporting a navy Henley and jeans. While the girl is all smiles, the guy has a severe look to him, like he’d rather be anywhere than here. He’s probably here at the mercy of his—girlfriend? Fiancée? Wife?

The man and woman are looking at him, so Stiles puts on his most charming smile and reaches his hand across the table toward the woman—she looks like she wears the pants in the relationship—and is rewarded by the flash of the woman’s dimples. “Hey, I’m Stiles.”

“Allison,” she says, words dulcet.

Stiles nods and reaches out to shake the guy’s hand. The man’s thick eyebrows draw together as he looks at Stiles’ hand, before he shifts and crosses his arms over his chest in a dismissive gesture.

“Um,” Stiles says, unsure of exactly what he did already to turn this guy off.

“Don’t mind Derek,” Allison says, trying for some sort of damage control and motioning to the man next to her—who must be Derek. “He just doesn’t like when people aren’t on time.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Well, considering we don’t officially open for fifteen more minutes, I’m actually early.” Scott throws him a look, opening his mouth, but Stiles quickly speaks, not wanting the fact that Stiles is offended by this guy’s—Derek’s—behavior to cost them a potential customer. “But please, rest assured that all of our workers follow strict timetables and will be there for all of your cleaning needs. We at Sud Studz do our best to create an environment comfortable to all involved—including, of course, punctuality.” Stiles says, throwing a glance at Derek, who is looking at him with what can only be a flabbergasted expression.

“Stiles—” Lydia starts, leaning over from around Scott, but Stiles keeps talking, taking in the uncomfortable set to Allison and Derek’s bodies, their confusion—he feels like he’s somehow already fucked up this meeting.

“So, what are you two looking for? Looking to spice things up in the bedroom? Don’t worry, that’s pretty common for us. I would assume that you’re here because of Allison’s interest.” But, at the way Allison’s face pales a little, Stiles changes course. “Although, it would be nothing out of the ordinary if Derek—can I call you Derek?—would want to explore a different side to his sexuality.”

The room is so quiet that the silence seems to echo. Kira coughs, but it sounds strangled. “Stiles, they’re not—”

Stiles clears his throat. Normally, he’s one of the best sellers of their company, which is why Scott and Lydia like him to be there for the negotiations meetings. Stiles is a good talker, is good at reading people—but he’ll be the first to admit that his initial impression of Allison and Derek had been wrong. He can’t help feeling like he’s out of his depth with them. “Or, y’know, you could just be here for a housekeeper,” he finishes lamely, slumping back in his chair, feeling more than a little dejected.

Allison, surprisingly, is the first to recover. She looks at Scott hesitantly before she turns to Stiles. “Actually, Stiles, we’re here on behalf of Silver Security Co. We—” she looks to Derek, who does something with his eyebrows at her, “We’re the two team leaders that’ll be working with you to coordinate security.” She clears her throat, “Maybe I should introduce myself fully. I’m Allison Argent.”

Stiles feels a little dumbstruck and more than a little embarrassed. His face heats and all he manages to say is a soft, “Oh.”

“As I was just telling Scott and—Kira, right?—and Lydia, my father briefed us a little on what would be expected of us.”

Derek huffs, uncrossing his arms, before speaking for the first time. “I would say to stand there and look pretty—but that’s _your_ job, isn’t it?” The words are full of derision and Stiles’ hackles stand up. He wishes the man had never opened his mouth in the first place.

Suddenly, it all makes sense why Derek didn’t want to shake his hand, why Allison was trying so hard for any flimsy excuse at damage control. “Oh, I see. You’re one of _those_ people.”

The man’s eyebrows raise in mock-question.

“Y’know, one of those people who think what I do—women’s work—isn’t _real_ work. Or maybe you’re of the mind that I’m just a glorified prostitute who needs someone to protect him.” Stiles says, almost spitting the words, feeling the anger rise in him like a tide. “Well, first of all, fuck you. I can take care of myself. The only reason I’m allowing a security guard to shadow me is because I want to be a good example for the other workers. Second of all, what I do is physically hard, sometimes back-breaking work. It’s not just a walk in the fucking park. I don’t just stand around all day and let middle-aged men do whatever they want with me. So please, drop the high-and-mighty routine and just do the job that you’ll be paid to do. Are we clear?”

Stiles clenches his jaw, looking at Derek, hoping to see any sort of apology on his face, but instead, all he sees is more of the same derision. “Crystal,” he says, word dripping sarcasm.

Stiles turns to look at his friends. Kira, who’s looking at him with wide, shocked eyes, Lydia, who is assessing him with a narrowed look that promises they will have a discussion about professionalism soon, and Scott, who is looking at him with a twisted mouth and sympathy etched onto his face.

Stiles gives Scott a long look before he stands up. “I’ll trust you guys to iron out the details. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should probably get going. I’ve got a long day today.” He lets out a breath and turns to the company still seated across from him at the table. “Allison, it was nice to meet you. I hope to see more of you around in the next few weeks.” His eyes barely flit over to Derek, who is scowling at him, arms once again crossed over his chest. “Derek. Can’t say it’s been a pleasure.”

“Stiles!” Lydia snaps, voice hard. Stiles has a second to feel guilty, before he’s grabbing his bucket of cleaning supplies and walking out the door.

~


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles is still angry by the time he’s finished work for the day, his usual friendliness toward the clientele nothing more than a stoic smile. He goes home, feeling exhausted through to his bones, wanting nothing more than to crawl into his bed and pretend he never had the unfortunate luck to meet one Derek Hale. His plans are thwarted, though, when he unlocks his door and walks in to see Boyd and Erica sitting on the couch together, pizza box and six pack of beer on the coffee table.

Stiles groans. The TV sounds too loud—it’s only now he realizes his head is pounding—and he’s just not in the mood to deal with anyone right now, least of all Erica.

It’s not that Stiles doesn’t like her; in fact, they became fast friends after she and Boyd got together. But as far as Stiles is concerned, it’s partly Erica’s fault for the fiasco that was this morning. “Please tell me you’re leaving soon.” He grumbles.

Erica leans over from where she’s sitting next to her boyfriend and reaches for the remote to silence the TV. “Good to see you, too, Stilinski. As always. My day was wonderful, in case you were wondering.”

Stiles grunts in response, dropping his bag with some clothes and his leftover lunch to the floor. He walks over and lifts Erica’s feet, sitting down on the opposite end of the sofa. “Yeah, well my day was shitty.”

Boyd looks over at him and frowns. “Did something else happen? I thought you said Argent Security was going to start today?”

Stiles closes his eyes, dropping his head back against the furniture. “Yeah, something happened, alright. Something tall, dark, and douchey named Derek Hale.”

He senses more than sees Erica freeze up at that. “Oh, no. Stiles, what did you do?” She sounds like she’s actually worried and it’s enough to make him crack one eye open to look at her.

“Why do you assume it was something _I_ did? It’s him that’s the asshole. I mean, have you met the guy?” He makes a motion with his hand. “He’s just so… _rude_.”

“Wait,” Boyd says, looking from Stiles to Erica. “Derek. Isn’t that the one who you said hazed you for the first six weeks you were working there?”

Erica shrugs, reaching to take a sip of her beer. “Yeah, but he does that to everyone—so Laura tells me. Apparently his mom, Talia, the silent partner, and Chris had a disagreement a while back about who was or wasn’t good enough to work there and ever since then, Derek’s taken it upon himself to make sure the workers can hold up well under pressure. Something about one of the security guards cracking once and someone getting hurt?—I’m not really sure; I try to stay away from the gossip. I guess it was pretty bad, though, and ever since then, Derek has just been really standoffish. I mean, I’ve been working with the guy for three years and the only time we’ve ever had a conversation was when his mom made him talk to me.”

Stiles lets out a breath at that information. “Huh.” He thinks it all over for a moment longer. “I still don’t like him.”

Boyd snorts and Erica shakes her head. Somehow, he doesn’t think either of them are surprised. They are probably even less surprised when he helps himself to a slice of their pizza.

~

“Scott, you can’t be serious!” Stiles seethes, his words a hard whisper that is probably too-loud in the small office. “What did I do to make you hate me so much?”

“Stiles, it’s not—” Scott shakes his head, the exasperation clear on his face and he looks over to Lydia, who is eyeing their exchange critically.

“Derek Hale? Really?—what, because we had such a _magical_ first meeting and we obviously hit it off _so well_ that you decided he should be assigned to me? I mean, what the _fuck_?”

“Stiles,” Lydia butts in, stepping between the two men with her arms crossed, glaring up at Stiles, “It was my decision, so don’t blame Scott. If it were up to him, you wouldn’t even have security detail at all!”

Stiles throws his hands up, “And what’s so wrong with that, Lydia, huh? I told you before, I can take care of myself.”

Lydia closes her eyes and takes a long inhalation before she lets it out on a sigh, opening her eyes. “No one here doubts that, Sweetie.” Her words are soft; not patronizing like he expects them to be, but kind. “But you also have to understand that the other workers look up to you. The fact that you know how to defend yourself was a very useful selling point to getting the guys to agree to take classes. Now, it’s your responsibility to them to be a good role model. If they see you, their boss, with a security detail, they are going to be more likely to go along with it.”

Stiles opens his mouth, about to say something about why _Derek Hale_ , but Scott must be able to see something on his face, because he steps around Lydia and places his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Look, dude, I know you and Derek didn’t hit it off, but he comes highly qualified from Mr. Argent. Allison swears that he’s one of the best security guards in the company.” Scott squeezes his shoulder and Stiles feels the anger fizzle out of him all at once. “C’mon, man, it’s just for a couple weeks to save face with the other guys. After that, you never have to look at his face ever again.”

Stiles crosses his arms over his chest, still feeling petulant. “It’s a stupid face.”

Scott laughs and claps him on the shoulder while Lydia just rolls her eyes.

~

“Okay, so here’s how it’s going to go.” Stiles barely waits for Derek to slide into the car next to him and close the door before taking off, rattling off the bullet points he’s thought of. “While we are at a client’s residence, you say nothing. You do nothing. You do not interfere in any way whatsoever with my job. You stand there and put on the show that you’ll actually step in if someone tries to harass me. Understood?”

Derek just looks over at him. “And who made you my boss?”

Stiles takes a turn a little too sharply and is rewarded by Derek’s grunt as he slams into the passenger door. “I think the fact that my company is footing your paycheck makes me in charge of you.” Stiles takes a deep breath. “Look, I don’t like you, you don’t like me. I’m sure you’d rather let some guy get handsy with me and just laugh about it instead of doing anything, and I’d rather punch you in your pretty face than have to actually spend time with you, but I owe it to my workers to not be a hypocrite, thus allowing a security detail while I work.

“And you know what, you owe it to the rest of your team, too. I get that you don’t think much of my profession, but the truth is that I’m worried for my men. I want them safe. I would just really like it if you could at least pretend to care about their safety so that your team takes their job seriously, even if you refuse to.”

There’s silence in the vehicle after Stiles stops talking. They are nearly to the house he’s scheduled to clean when Derek speaks, his voice softer than Stiles has heard it so far. “Look, whatever impression you have of me, I take my job seriously. I’m really offended that you would think I would let my petty dislike of you influence my job and my team.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Well, I was plenty offended the last time we spoke. Get over it. I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

Stiles looks from the road to Derek, both of them locking eyes for a moment as Stiles slows the car to a stop in the client’s drive.

Derek narrows his eyes before he looks away. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re on the same page.”

Stiles doesn’t bother to acknowledge him, instead just gets out of the car and pops the truck, grabbing his bucket of cleaners and tools. He doesn’t even notice that Derek’s come around to the back of the vehicle until the other man is reaching out for his bucket of supplies. “Here, let me help.”

Stiles frowns and tightens his grip on the handle. “No way, man. I got it.” He’s surprised when Derek doesn’t immediately let go, looking down instead at Stiles’ hand clasping the handle. “Are you fucking kidding me? Jesus Christ, do you honestly think that I’m some damsel in distress that needs you to carry my shit for me? I’m not weak and I _don’t_ need your fucking help!”

Derek lets go slowly, not even reacting to Stiles’ words. Stiles watches as the other man frowns before he points at Stiles’ wrist where his jacket sleeve has ridden up his arm. “What happened?”

Derek’s voice sounds devoid of emotion except for the curiosity lacing the words. Stiles looks down to see his wrist, the purplish finger shaped bruises just starting to yellow at the edges. Stiles jerks the bucket toward himself, pulling down his sleeve with his free hand before he slams the trunk shut. “It’s nothing,” he says, starting to walk toward the front door.

“Stiles, that looks pretty bad.”

He rounds back on Derek. “What do you care, Derek? Do you take pleasure in my pain or something? Does it make you feel good to know that a few days ago a client got mad because I refused to fuck him? Because he, like _you_ , thought I was nothing more than a glorified sex worker? Go fuck yourself, Derek. Now let me do my goddamn job.”

~

It’s only after Stiles’ work for the day is done that he realizes Derek didn’t say another word to him the entire time, just trailed along with Stiles diligently from house to house, and stood quietly in the corner while Stiles explained to the customers why there was a strange man there. Stiles thinks maybe he imagined it the one time he looked over at Derek and swore the other man was looking back at him.

~

The next week passes in much the same way, Stiles working while Derek stands there silently. All conversations between them are stilted and awkward, but they seemed to have stopped outwardly hating each other, at least while they are on the job.

But today, Stiles doesn’t really care about Derek. He would tell the other man to sit the next appointment out if he thought that Derek would actually listen to him, but somehow he doubts that that would ever happen.

Stiles walks up to the modest ranch-style home with a smile on his face that he knows he probably hasn’t had since Derek started detailing him. He can practically feel the questioning look Derek sends his way when he just lets himself into the home instead of knocking and waiting for it to open as per usual.

“Honey!” Stiles yells, dropping his bucket to the floor, “I’m home!”

Stiles grins as he sees two men walk up to him. The older man is a little eccentric looking, his hair in slight disarray, and the younger one is someone that makes Stiles grin even wider. “Greenberg! Man, it’s been too long! Don’t tell me this old geezer is keeping you housebound…”

Greenberg, a man with dark hair and eyes that make him look just a little mousey, rolls his eyes at Stiles. He shakes his head, but there’s fondness in the movement. Back when Scott and Stiles started Sud Studz, after they’d hired Lydia and Kira and just a couple other housekeepers, one of them had recommended Greenberg. Stiles always thought he was kind of a loveable dork, but he was good at his job, and the two became fast friends. He’d worked with the company for nearly two years before he was assigned to clean the house of one Bobby Finstock. Stiles isn’t sure how it happened, but the two fell in love, dated for a while, before Greenberg came to him and Scott one night to tell them that he was quitting because Bobby had proposed. The two has been almost inseparable since then, but Stiles rarely got to see the other man due to Bobby’s request to have the staff rotate every month so that Greenberg could have a chance to see all of his old friends and coworkers.

“You shut your mouth, Stilinski, or I’ll make you run suicides in the backyard until you drop.” The older man, Finstock, shout-talks. Stiles notices Derek raise an eyebrow at him when he just laughed in response to the man’s threat.

Finstock must have finally noticed Derek lurking next to Stiles because his eyes narrowed and he gave him an assessing look. “And who are you. Is this a two for one deal?”

Stiles coughs, looking over just in time to see a blush start on Derek’s cheeks. “No, no, no, Cupcake. He’s my security guard.”

“Security guard?” Greenberg frowns. “Did something happen?”

Stiles shrugs, “Eh. Harris was just being an asshole. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Finstock frowns as well. “I never liked that guy. You know, he used to mock me for losing a testicle to exposure. He used to just laugh,” the man says, laughing himself a little maniacally, “Can you believe it? He would laugh!” His words end on something that was Finstock’s version of a sob.

Greenberg rubs the other man’s back in a soothing gesture. “It’s okay, Sweetie. Just forget about him. Your one ball makes you more of a man than he’ll ever be.”

Stiles bites his lip to keep himself from laughing at the display. He hears Derek cough and would bet his whole paycheck that he’s trying not to snicker at them as well.

“Well, I suppose I should get started,” Stiles says, stripping off his clothes like he did every time, first his jacket and shirt, then his shoes, socks, and pants. He hears Derek make a sound from behind him and he knows the reason why without having to see his face.

Instead of wearing his usual white apron attached to a thong, he’s sporting a pair of red and white short-short running shorts per Finstock’s request—something about locker room fantasies and _Supernatural_ that Stiles _really_ doesn’t want to know about—and they look _amazing_ on Stiles if he did say so himself, framing his ass in just the right way. They were worth every obscene penny he paid for them—plus, Finstock always tipped him better when he wore these particular shorts.

Finstock wolf-whistles at him and Stiles just grins. “You sure know how to please a guy, Stilinski. If I were five years younger and a little slimmer in the middle and if you didn’t have such freaking impossibly high standards for men…” A nudge of an elbow from Greenberg makes him clear his throat, “And unattached. Of course.”

Stiles lets out a laugh. “Thanks, Coach. So, where do you want me to start today?”

Finstock flushes in obvious pleasure at the nickname and motions to the kitchen. Stiles picks up his bucket of supplies and heads in, feeling Derek trail in behind him.

 “So, Mr. Security Guard, what’s your name?” Finstock asks, leaning over the kitchen island to—yep, to get a better look at Derek’s ass. Stiles can’t really blame the older man—it really is a nice ass, even if he doesn’t particularly care for the personality it’s unfortunately attached to.

Stiles pulls out the various sponges and cleaners he needs to start working in the kitchen, watching Derek from the corner of his eye. So far, the other customers had mainly just ignored him or stared at him; this is the first time that someone’s actually addressed him.

Derek clears his throat. “Uh, Derek.”

Finstock smiles, but it comes off a little creepy when his eyes slightly bug out of his head. “Derek, huh? Have you ever considered another line of work? Not that—y’know, that whole sexy bodyguard thing doesn’t do it for me—because I’ll be honest, there’s not a lot that doesn’t do it for me, just ask Greenberg—”

Stiles snickers a little to himself as he gets to work, scrubbing at the stove, polishing the countertops and the woodwork, letting Finstock and Derek’s one-sided conversation—with Greenberg cutting in to attempt to save Derek from too much embarrassment—fall like white noise around him. He lets the work consume him, moves from task to task until he starts to feel a little strain in his shoulders as he scrubs the floor.

He goes from room to room, interjecting little comments here and there that make Finstock and Greenberg crack up, the other guys following him as he works. He’s surprised at one point when Derek actually seems to be engaging Greenberg in a conversation.

“So, how did you hear about this company?”

Greenberg snorts unattractively. “I actually used to work for Stiles, back in the day.” Stiles is paying them just enough attention to see Derek’s face fall a little bit at the other man’s statement, but Greenberg continues on like the oblivious idiot he is, not even aware that Stiles is listening. “Yeah, he and Scott were super cool. There were just starting and my friend Danny was working there. I was super strapped for cash and they helped me out. Stiles actually let me crash with him for a little while before I met Bobby. It’s hard to find good people, y’know, but he is.”

Stiles smiles down at the dust cloth in his hands before he walks it into the kitchen to toss it. He goes to the windows next, the stepstool they keep around already out and waiting for him. It’s starting to be a little too-cold outside for him to wash the exterior of the windows in his costume, so he just makes do with a thorough cleaning of the inside panes.

It’s as he’s reaching up, extending his window squeegee to get to the top of the tallest windows in the living room, that it happens. It comes out of nowhere—just the sharp sting of something hitting his butt. He turns to look over his shoulder and hears Finstock before he sees him, the towel in his hands already twisted and queued up for another hit.

Stiles takes it in stride. This isn’t the first time someone’s hit his bottom—not even the first time Finstock’s done it—and he would expect nothing less from the older man. If it were any other client, Stiles would be putting them in their place, but he _knows_ Finstock, has known him for a while, and as strange as it may be, he considers him to be a kind of friend. Finstock snaps the towel again and Stiles feels the same sharp sting, but it’s really not bad—not even the worst thing Finstock’s done while Stiles was working.

“Wow,” Finstock mumbles, obviously looking at Stiles’ ass. “Would you look at that wiggle? It’s like it’s got a mind of its own!”

Stiles lets out a full-body laugh at that, laughing so hard that for a moment he thinks he’s going to lose his balance and fall off the stool. It’s after he rights himself that he sees Derek striding towards them, a cold look on his face. It’s only then that he realizes that what Finstock just did is against the rules and Derek is contractually obligated to protect Stiles from exact situations like this.

Stiles makes quick work of stepping down, the laughter dying on his lips, and situates himself between Derek and the other man. “Hey, Derek, yo, hang on.” Derek throws him a glare, but Stiles holds his ground. “It’s cool. I promise. If it was someone other than Coach, it might be a different story, but the guy is married to my friend and said spouse is in the same room as us. I can assure you that my virtue is safe. He was just messing around, right Cupcake?” Stiles says the last bit over his shoulder, to where Finstock is standing.

Greenberg is looking on with his eyebrows drawn together. “Derek, look, Bobby’s just giving Stiles a hard time. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“And besides,” Stiles says, taking a step back from Derek and looking at Finstock and Greenberg before he does a little shimmy and turns, shaking his hips in a way that perfectly shows off his ass in the shorts for all to see, “You can’t really fault him for admiring the handiwork.”

Greenberg is nodding seriously, his eyes moving to catch Derek’s as he motions toward Stiles’ bottom. “He speaks the truth. His ass could rival Scott’s, and he’s got the best ass on a man I’ve ever _seen_ —no offense, Honey,” he adds, reaching out to take Finstock’s hand when the other man grumbles.

Derek just stands there for another long moment, looking between all of them, before he shakes his head and mutters something under his breath that sounds like, “unbelievable” and “why am I even here?” before he just sighs and walks back to his corner.

Stiles isn’t at all surprised when he finally finishes cleaning and is getting ready to go, that Finstock takes Derek aside and has a long conversation with him, about what, he can only guess, but Derek is blushing profusely by the end of it and goes out to the car before Stiles even has his clothes back on.

It’s only after fifteen minutes of prying that Stiles gets Derek to admit to the fact that Finstock propositioned Derek for a threesome. Stiles laughs until he starts to cry.

~


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles doesn’t know what it is, but there’s something different about Derek after that. He’s more stoic than ever, speaking less, avoiding eye contact with Stiles, but he’s also a little less condescending, which Stiles thinks is a good thing. They don’t talk often, just do their jobs and then part ways. Stiles wouldn’t even know Derek was with him at the clients’ houses if not for the fact that he was a constant presence at Stiles’ back and Stiles was always aware of him.

Derek Hale is an enigma—a mystery—and Stiles wants nothing more than to figure out what makes the other man tick. Stiles has always been the sort of person to push and pick at something until he figures it out, so the sudden change to Derek’s demeanor is interesting to say the least.

But today, Stiles is giving his most valiant effort not to think about Derek.

Stiles picks Scott up at his and Kira’s apartment before the two of them drive across town to meet their parents for their usual Sunday morning brunch.

It’s a tradition their families started a long time ago, long before Scott and Stiles were even best friends. Maybe they were best friends because of the weekly lunches, because their fathers both worked together at the police station and their mothers worked together at the hospital.

They arrive barely on time, walking into the busy restaurant and finding their table without difficulty. The two sets of parents stand and hug the two men, exchanging greetings, before they all sit and chose their food. After they’ve ordered their meals, Stiles’ mother, Claudia, puts her chin in her hand and looks at her son.

“So, Stiles, Mel told me that you had a little bit of a scare a little while ago.” Stiles resists the urge to groan and shoot an accusatory look at Scott for telling his mom—like he didn’t know Melissa would immediately tell Claudia.

“Mom, I’m fine. It was nothing serious—”

Claudia scoffs. “Nothing serious? Is that why you apparently have a bodyguard now?”

Stiles’ father, Noah, sets a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Claudia, you know Stiles can take care of himself.”

Scott’s father, Rafael, looks over at Stiles. “So why do you have a bodyguard anyway, Kiddo?”

Stiles doesn’t bother trying to hide his eye roll. “Because I want to be a good example. Besides, it’s not like my bodyguard will actually protect me anyway.”

All of the parents bristle at that and Stiles knows he’s just made a terrible mistake. “What do you mean, Stiles?” Melissa asks, voice hard. “Does this person not take the job serious? Is there a problem we should be aware of? Have they endangered you?”

Scott tries to jump in, “No, mom, it’s nothing like that. There was just a misunderstanding between them— ”

“What kind of misunderstanding?” Stiles’ father asks in his cop voice.

Stiles shakes his head frantically, not knowing how this conversation got so out of his control. “No, no—it’s fine, I promise. He’s actually a lot better. I don’t know why I said that he wouldn’t protect me. He’s done nothing lately to warrant that.” At all of the parents’ disbelieving looks, Stiles put on an honest smile. “I swear, it’s fine.”

Stiles’ mother looks at him for a long moment before she sighs and reaches out to place her hand over his. “You like him.”

She says it with the certainty that only mothers can have, and it leaves Stiles gaping a little like a fish. He sees Scott baulk from the corner of his eye, but Stiles can only swallow hard. “I—I don’t—”

Claudia just pats his hand, a little condescendingly, before she pulls away, only for their food to arrive. “Whatever you say, Sweetheart.”

~

Stiles can’t get his mother’s words out of his head after that. They echo around in his brain for the next week, repeating every time he looks at Derek while he’s working, through every quasi-conversation the two of them have in their many car rides. One time, Stiles even invited Derek with him to get some lunch between clients, and it had been the most civil the two of them had been around each other since their ill-fated meeting a couple weeks prior. Stiles doesn’t want to admit it, but it had been nice to just spend a little time with the other man, even if it had been mostly in professional silence.

He thinks that maybe Derek’s noticed something is up with him, because at the end of the second week of the two week contract Sud Studz had with Silver Security, his hand on Stiles’ arm stops him from walking into the residence of his last appointment of the day.

“Stiles, hold on a sec.”

Stiles turns back to him, eyebrows raised. He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but the focused look on Derek’s face was not it. Maybe he expected a glare or a scowl, but not this softly intense look. Stiles thinks about snapping a sarcastic comment at him, but instead he tilts his head and gives Derek a small smile. “What can I do you for?”

Derek’s mouth parts a little—maybe in surprise—before his hand quickly falls away from Stiles’ arm so he can shove his hands into his pockets. “I, uh—Well, since it’s our last day of working together… I just wanted to say.” Derek clears his throat and looks away. “You do good work,” Derek says shortly, but not unkindly.

Stiles blinks at him. He’s not sure what he was expecting, but that was certainly not it. He feels oddly off-kilter by Derek’s words. As far as compliments go, it’s not like a lot of one’s he’s gotten, but it makes him happy. Maybe Derek isn’t as obtuse as Stiles thought—maybe he is able to see through his dislike enough to actually _see_ Stiles for who he is, and to see that he takes a lot of pride in his work. He reaches up to rub the back of his neck, “Um, thanks, man.” He clears his throat and points over his shoulder. “I should probably…”

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry.” Stiles swears he can see the tips of Derek’s ears go pink. He doesn’t know why, but his mother’s words flash through his head again.

_You like him._

And maybe this time they sound more sweet than accusatory—and maybe, just maybe, Stiles admits to himself for the first time that he’s going to miss this weird, stilted banter with Derek when their time together is up.

He heads into the house with Derek on his heels. It’s a large two-story of the cookie-cutter variety. Today’s a little different, as far as his uniform goes—that is, he doesn’t actually have one. Deaton’s been a long standing client with them from way back in the day, before they even had an official business. Scott used to work for him, and one of the first jobs Scott and Stiles got when the cleaning took off from out of the dorm building was with the man. That being said, there was nothing sexual or provocative with Deaton, which was a nice respite from some of the other clients, a bit of normalcy that Stiles was always grateful for.

He sets his bucket on the floor and only removes his jacket, hanging it on the coat rack as Deaton comes out of the woodwork to great him. “Stiles. It’s good to see you.”

Stiles smiles and walks over to shake the man’s hand. “You as well, sir. Sorry Scott couldn’t make it today. Guess you’re stuck with me for the afternoon.”

Deaton smiles musingly. “That is quite all right, Mr. Stilinski. How’s Noah?”

The smile on Stiles’ face turns into an all-out grin. “Oh, you know my dad. Workaholic. Mom keeps him on a tight leash though. And Bailey keeps them on their toes.”

Deaton chuckles at that. Bailey was a Saint Bernard that had been a stray that somehow ended up at Deaton’s vet office, and somehow the loveable dog found a home with his parents. His mom had taken one look and turned her own puppy eyes to his father—and that was that. The dog was a good fit for them, even if it did tend to slobber all over Stiles when he went home for visits.

“Well, I’ll leave you to your work, Mr. Stilinski.” His eyes track over to Derek in the corner. “Good to see you, as well, Mr. Hale.”

“Alan,” Derek nods in greeting, his stern face softening with the greeting.

“Oh,” Stiles says almost dumbly, “you two know each other?”

Derek clears his throat while Deaton lets out a chuckle. “Yes. We have for many years. I’m a friend of his mother’s. You’ll tell her I said hello?”

“Of course, Sir.”

And then Deaton’s leaving them in the foyer alone. Stiles picks up his bucket and moves into his routine, starting in the kitchen, working out into the rest of the modest house. He’s scrubbing at the tub in the lower-level bathroom when Derek’s eyes on him becomes too much.

“Geez, buddy, why do you keep staring at me?”

He looks up in time to watch Derek flush—and _boy_ , does that look pretty—and look away. “Sorry. Just didn’t realize you did this sort of thing just to actually clean.”

Stiles is confused for a moment before it suddenly clicks. He thinks he should be offended, but instead he just laughs. “Dude, how many times have I told you that this is my _job_? What, you actually think I _like_ always having to parade around in next to nothing just to make a living? Newsflash, I really don’t. But it pays the bills, so I do it. And yeah, I’d much rather clean like this,” he motions down to the sweat pants and t-shirt he’s wearing, “but our business sort of has a reputation, you know?”

Derek’s quiet for a long moment after that, as Stiles finishes in the bathroom and makes his way out to the living space. He finishes up quickly after that, and graciously takes the sealed envelope Deaton offers him when the job is done and he’s walking them both to the door.

It’s later, as they’re pulling up the Sud Studz office together for the last time that Stiles finally finds the courage to turn to Derek. He reaches out for the other man, puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him from leaving before he’s removing it again. “Hey, uh, I know we seriously got off on the wrong foot and all,” Stiles motions to the building, “and I know it’s been kinda not fun for you to just follow me around for two weeks, but my team really needed this. So, uh, if we ever need any security in the future, I’ll be sure to ask Silver Security, or recommend you guys. Because you all did great work, and, seriously, I can’t tell you how much Scott and I appreciate—”

“Stiles,” Derek breaks in, raising an eyebrow at him, “was there an _actual_ point somewhere in there or were you just spiraling?”

Stiles’ mouth opens and closes a couple times. “Uh. Spiraling. Sorry. I’m just trying to say thanks, I guess.”

Stiles can practically feel the blush on his cheeks and he wishes he were anywhere but there, making a fool of himself in front of this man who already thinks low of him. He reaches out for the door handle and makes to get out of the vehicle, when he feels a hand on his own arm. He looks back to see that it’s Derek, and he’s looking at Stiles with—fondness?—and a soft smile. “Stiles?” Stiles bites his lip and nods. “You’re welcome. Besides, it wasn’t completely terrible.” His eyes twinkle when he speaks again. “I have to admit, I liked the eye candy.”

Stiles sputters at that, reeling. Does this mean—could Derek—?

“Um,” Is all that Stiles says, intelligibly.

Derek’s finger’s trail down Stiles’ arm to ghost over the rabbiting pulse of his wrist before the touch is gone altogether. “I was wrong about you. I realize that, now. I’m sorry I was so pig-headed and ignorant about your job. The truth is, I think you’re an incredibly hard worker. I think you’re smart, and funny, and I like that you always stand up so strongly for what you think is right. You’re a good leader, Stiles, and your employees look up to you. I’m sorry I didn’t see any of that before. I guess I was just…caught off guard that first day by how attracted to you I was, and I didn’t want myself to be just another guy lusting after someone who makes money by showing off their body.” Derek sighs, deeply. “I’m an ass.”

Stiles coughs a little, trying to get rid of the breathless sensation in his chest at Derek’s words. “I’m pretty sure that’s the most consecutive words you’ve ever said to me, and honestly, I don’t know how I feel about the fact that our first real conversation had to wait until the very end of our work relationship. It’s rude.” Stiles laughs a little and reaches out for Derek’s hand, soft and warm, and laces their fingers together.

Derek squeezes his fingers around Stiles’. “Why is that?”

Stiles gives Derek an unimpressed look and huffs a little, leaning across the console to the other man. “Because we totally could’ve been kissing! For _weeks_ , Derek.”

Derek’s grin is sweet when he guides their hands up to his lips so that he can kiss the back of Stiles’ hand. “Well, I guess we have some lost time to make up for, then, don’t we?”

Stiles huffs, even as he moves closer, inching his face toward the other man’s. “You bet your ass we do.” He kisses Derek, soft, sweet, just a brush of a thing, but it’s enough to get his heart racing once more. “It’s a good ass, too, you know.”

Derek looks at him a little dazedly, lips parted, eyes searching Stiles’ own. “You think?”

Stiles makes a considering face. “Well, I mean, I only saw it though black dress slacks, but I’d be totally willing to give it another look and see if it’s up to standard with the rest of the package—”

Derek silences him with another kiss.

~

Stiles sits across the conference table in the office from the new perspective client. He’s well-dressed, young, good-looking in that roguishly handsome kind of way. Stiles smiles, looking up from the paperwork in front of him. “So, how can Sud Studz be of service to you today?”

“Well,” the man starts, speaking slowly like he’s rehearsed this in his head a thousand times before, but he’s suddenly forgotten what he’s supposed to say. “I’m not home a whole lot. My job’s kind of demanding, with irregular hours, and I guess I realized that I’ve kind of let my place go to the wayside. Especially lately, since I’ve been spending so much time at my boyfriend’s apartment,” the man grins at that, and it’s all teeth, sending a shiver down Stiles’ spine. “And your company came highly recommended through a mutual friend.”

Stiles nods, writing down some notes about the man. “And who is this friend?”

The man across from him lets out a small huff, “Someone you used to work with, I believe. He was your bodyguard once.”

“Hmm,” Stiles says, faking disinterest. “I faintly remember him.”

“Oh, only faintly?” The man across from Stiles crosses his arms. “That’s not what you were saying this morning.”

Stiles does his best to level the man with a cool look. “Derek, please, can’t you at least _try_ to be professional about this?”

But then Derek’s coming out from around the other side of the small table to stand next to Stiles. He puts a finger under Stiles’ jaw to lift his face up as he comes down for a kiss, lips bruising, hard, almost vicious—a reminder of the two of them in his bed this morning. “What’s the fun in that?”

Stiles shakes his head, even as he stands up from the chair, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend and pulling him close to kiss him again. The morning is quiet, and they are alone in the office, the two of them there before anyone else is due in for the day. Stiles sits back against the table and then pulls away, looking back at the table beneath him considering. He raises his eyebrow at Derek, and if the other man’s grin is enough to go by, they’re both on the same page.

They’ve been dating for couple months now, making time between the odd hours of both their jobs. This is the first time in longer than Stiles can remember that he and Derek have been alone at the office. In fact, he thinks maybe it’s only the second time. Derek kisses him again, his hands all over Stiles’ body, before they make quick work of each other’s clothes—hands and lips and bodies moving and pressing together, until Stiles forgets the cold wood of the table at his back or the fact that things like work and responsibilities—and anything other than _Derek_ actually exists.

That is, of course, until Liam walks in on them and they have to pull away from each other to stop him from pouring bleach on his eyes.

Stiles supposes it’s all in a good day’s work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while! This has been sitting mostly finished in my documents for a long time, but I've lacked motivation to actually finish it. I'm not really in the tw fandom any longer, but I like to finish what I start. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy, and thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are appreciated :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are appreciated! I would really love some feedback on this.
> 
> Come talk to me on [tumblr](http://clawstoagunfight.tumblr.com/)!


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